Nursing
by piperholmes
Summary: Sybil laughed. "It seems I'm always to be scandalizing my family with nursing." And she was quite contented. A little bit of fun with the idea of Sybil and Nursing. A bit of a continuation with my other story First Breath.


**Nursing**

**By: piperholmes**

**A/N: Just a quick note to say I haven't abandoned WTFH, but I have been working on this for some time. This is what _First Breath_ was originally suppose to be about, and this story falls in that universe—though one doesn't have to read FB first to understand this one—there are simply some small references to that story. I won't prevaricate here other than to say this is unbeta'd and turned into a bit of a LONG oneshot. There are mentions of bare boobies but I refuse to rate this M because this is as far from sexy as a person can get. *knowing mothers all nod* Any hoo, enjoy!**

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She hadn't expected the pain. Truthfully she hadn't really known what to expect, but the awe, the love, the tender moments, even the long hours all seemed forgone conclusions but the pain had been a surprise. Nursing was much harder than Sybil had anticipated, yet she wouldn't changer her course for all the easy summer days the world had to offer. Her time alone with her child as they sat now, his tiny mouth pulling at her breast, suckling his strength from her as she played with his toes allowed a connection unlike any she had ever experienced.

It had been a hot summer though. Giving birth in the early summertime hadn't seemed such a bad idea in the beginning. Images of sunlight and fresh green grass had decorated her visions of idyllic family days spent as a threesome on picnics, and cute little bonnets to protect baby from the warmth. However, she had not considered her fluctuating body temperature which seemed to turn the typical mild Irish summer into something more similar to the week she spent in New York in August as a young girl, in other words, miserably hot.

Being heavily pregnant and uncomfortable had only seemed magnified in the heat, making her irritable and weepy. The morning before she had gone into labour she had sat on the edge of her and Tom's bed and in a fit of sheer frustration had whipped her nightgown off over her head and flopped back against the pillows declaring she wasn't going to do a single thing until the baby came or until the blasted heat let up.

Tom had paused mid-shirt-buttoning and eyed her warily, cautiously approaching her with reasonable arguments and calm logical words about how the baby would come soon and everything would be alright, but she had wanted none of it. She merely wanted to feel a little bit normal, a little bit like her body was her own. She could also use with a good night's rest, but the baby seemed contented to deny her that as well. All of it had begun to pile on her and before either of them knew it she was hiding her face in the pillow, trying to silence her tears.

"I'm…really…happy," she had sniffled, doing her best to calm the panicked look on her husbands face. "I just don't understand…why the baby won't come!"

Tom's eyes had brightened with merriment and he had to drop his chin to hide his grin from his emotional wife. "I'll be right back my love," he had promised before dashing out of the room.

Sybil had been left to frown at the ceiling for only a moment before Tom had returned with a damp cloth in his hand. He sat on the bed next to her and ordered softly, "Now close your eyes and just relax."

She was too tired to argue and simply did as he instructed. She had jumped slightly as the cold wet cloth made contact with her arm, shivering as tiny bumps erupted along her skin, but made no move to stop him. He first ran the cloth up one arm and then the next, across her brow, then neck and chest. A wet path was led up each leg and Sybil sighed as she felt a bit of relief from the oppressive heat.

"Again," she had pleaded and Tom had left the room again, returning with the cloth newly dampened and repeated his ministrations. On the fourth pass Sybil had begun to drift off, and Tom had placed a light kiss against her cheek promising to help her again when he returned home from work. Of course it hadn't worked out that way. Sybil had awoken from her morning nap feeling quite uncomfortable and by lunch time she knew the pain in her back was more intense than anything she had previously experienced and that her body was ready to give birth.

When her mother, who had been staying in a nearby hotel with the express purpose of not missing the birth of her first grandchild, had made her daily afternoon visit, Sybil knew it was time to call re-enforcements and O'Brien had been dispatched to collect the midwife, Mrs. Branson—Tom's mother—and finally Tom himself.

By the time the sun had gone down that day Sybil was in full labour. Most of the night had been a blur for her; the pains had grown more intense, rippling across her overheated body. Her mother had tried to get her to lie down but that caused the pain in her back to intensify and she had been forced to kneel on all fours on the bed, sweat trickling down her face and burning her eyes.

She did remember Tom appearing at one point because the women surrounding her had erupted in disbelief; Mrs. Branson scolding her son fiercely. He argued with them about something, which Tom usually did when he wanted to be heard, but then left after catching her gaze with his own, sending a silent message of love and support. A moment later she had felt the cool wet cloth against the back of her neck as her mother gently ran it across her skin and Sybil knew why Tom had invaded the "women's work."

"Thank you," she had groaned, happy for even the smallest reprieve from her discomfort. Each woman had taken turns applying the cooled cloth to her heated body throughout the night as she laboured to bring her child into the world.

And just after the sun had begun to rise, on her knees and gripping tightly to the headboard, she had delivered a healthy, large, squalling baby boy.

She thought she had been prepared for her world to change but she was in no way prepared for how life altering the moment her son had been placed on her chest had been. She hated to sound so cliché but there truly was no other way for her to describe how immediate her love and fierce protection for her baby had been asserted.

Watching Tom meet his son for the first time would forever be imprinted on her soul, and while she had never really doubted her decision to marry Tom and leave behind her whole world (an occasional moment of disillusionment sure, but never regret), she was willing to admit she had worried at times about her abilities to thrive and do well, but holding her son against her body as her husband had delicately touched his cheek and seeing him fall as easily and completely in love as she had, finally laid to rest the last ghost of Downton Abbey. She had fully become Sybil Branson. And her first act as Sybil Branson had been to nurse:

_Sybil eased back onto the newly stripped and freshly made bed, mindful of the terrible burning between her legs. She was still bleeding, and would for several weeks the midwife had informed her, but at least the sweat and tears and dried blood had been washed off and she had on a fresh nightgown. She was far from feeling herself, but anything was better than the hours previous spent bent, panting and crying, and pushing mindlessly against the pain. Her body screamed for her to sleep; to close her eyes and drift off but her mind was far too active and excited. She wanted her baby back in her arms._

"_Gentle girl," the midwife warned as she helped Sybil settle against the pillows. "You'll be feelin' quite sore and worn out the next few days. Be sure not to push things." She leaned in close to ensure this was for Sybil's ears only, stating, "I'm always sure to tell me new mothers to not let their husband's bother them for at least a month." She gave Sybil a firm look in order to communicate her meaning._

_Sybil felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment, which considering where this old woman had spent her evening seemed a bit ridiculous, but she merely nodded. She had no doubt Tom would be more than eager to reengage in the physical and intimate side of their marriage that her large, awkward pregnant belly and exhaustion had cooled, but she was also certain he wouldn't pressure her until she was ready. And currently, lovemaking was the furthest thing from her mind._

_Once she was well settled against her pillows, her mother-in-law handed her back a freshly cleaned and swaddled baby. He was pinking up and felt a warm welcomed weight against her. She could see him better now; his nose, his eyes and eyelashes, round cheeks and the tiniest ears she had ever seen. He was breathtaking. _

"_He'll be wanting to eat soon," the midwife advised and Sybil looked to her mother-in-law expectantly._

"_Just as I told you girl," Mrs. Branson prompted gently. "Relax and allow the babe to nestle comfortably against you."_

_Sybil eased the blanket away from the baby, allowing more of him to rest directly against his body._

"_Sybil?" she heard her mother call, her tone slightly dismayed._

_Sybil glanced at her, taking in the widened eyes and small frown. "Yes Mama?"_

"_You're not…surely you're not expecting to…feed him," she had stammered through in her quiet way, a rather familiar look of scandalized disbelief on her face. Lady Grantham, however, was clearly out numbered as she was met with three equally confused expressions._

"_Why shouldn't I Mama?" Sybil inquired as patiently as she could. If there was a moment in her life where her temperament and understanding were compromised this seemed as ideal as any. _

"_Well, it just isn't done," Lady Grantham explained, her tone conveying her opinion on the obviousness of her decree. "A Lady isn't expected to be treated as a common milk cow."_

_Sybil felt Mrs. Branson bristle and heard her breath catch. If Sybil weren't so tired she probably would have smiled at the impending exchange between Tom's mother and her own. Her husband and his mother shared more than just fair hair and blue eyes. They had a bit of steel in them, an ability to fight for their convictions and to never back down. But Sybil was tired, she was emotional and she was done with her former life._

"_Please Mama, look around you. Are we in the grand rooms of Downton? Do I have a nursemaid standing by?"_

"_I would pay for one, or you could at least use bottles," Lady Grantham implored, interrupting her daughter. "You were mostly bottle fed. I know this isn't Downton Abbey but you are still a lady Sybil. But surely you've not lost all that you have been taught. To feed ones own child can be rather…indelicate." _

_With that Sybil's restraint fled. She was no longer the baby of the family needing her mother to chastise her or instruct her. She was a grown woman, a wife, a nurse and now a mother. She knew her choices hurt her family and she wished she could avoid that, but unavoidable fact of life was that with every choice came a sacrifice, and with her son's warm breath against her skin Sybil knew she had gained more than she had lost._

"_Be that as it may, I will not be handing my child over to another woman, nor will I be feeding my baby a bottle. I have seen too many undernourished babies at the hospital to risk my child's health. And frankly, as indelicate as you may find the process I am quite eager and excited to do it Mama. Don't you understand? He's _my_ child. And as long as we are both able, he will feed at my breast," Sybil's tone brokered no room for argument. She may no longer claim Downton as her home, but it was clear in the way she had dismissed her mother with a turn of her head that her aristocratic upbringing was not as far from her as her family believed._

_An uncomfortable silence echoed around the room, and, clearly at odds with the situation, Mrs. Branson kindly suggested, "Perhaps her Ladyship could arrange for some breakfast?"_

_At her words Sybil glanced up, realizing she was quite hungry. It had been early evening when her pains had intensified enough to make her feel nauseated, and, after she had violently emptied the contents of her stomach, she had resisted any attempts made to get her to eat anything beyond a bit of broth. She knew her mother didn't understand her, the situation, or even her love for Tom, and deep down Sybil new that no matter what happened she would always be a disappointment to her mother. However, her mother seemed to at least understand Sybil's desire to want to live a full life. It was clear their definitions on what constituted a full life would never be the same, but perhaps it was enough to continue the attempts at maintaining a relationship. _

"_Please Mama. That would be quite nice; to have a bit of toast," she offered; her culinary olive branch. _

_Cora Crawley eyed her youngest then her gaze moved between the tiny life she cradled and the other grandmother. Sybil saw the hurt in her eyes but there was little she could do. She would be happy to have her mother stay, but she refused to allow Lady Grantham to ruin this moment with her son._

"_Of course," her mother finally acquiesced before quietly making her way out of the room, her back straight in perfect form even after a long night. _

_Sybil sighed as she absently ran her fingers over her son's impossibly soft hair, already so much like his father's. "I'm sorry if she insulted you," she whispered regretfully, not quite able to look her mother-in-law in the eye. Her relationship with Mrs. Branson in the beginning would at best be described as tenuous. Neither knew how to react to each other, and subsequently how to act around each other. Sybil had so desperately wanted to be like and loved and Mrs. Branson was quite prepared to not like her at all. Sybil had had to prove herself, but she had gained the respect and eventual love of the well worked older woman. She had allowed her and Tom more than her own family had; she had given them a chance. For that alone Sybil would always be grateful. But in the months that her pregnancy had progressed, with each new symptom and question that had arisen, Sybil had been able to turn to this woman time and time again, and they seemed to truly form a bond. She loved her mother and was mostly saddened by the idea that she was unable to share such a relationship with her._

_Mrs. Branson sat next to her daughter-in-law and offered her a cheeky grin, one Sybil was only all too familiar with. "Don't you worry love, between the two of us I've known I would be the sow's ear to her silk purse," she teased. "Let's just agree that you're not a "common" milk cow, but a "well-bred" milk cow."_

_The midwife gave a rather loud snort then turned wide-eyed, ready to apologize. "Sorry m'lady…"_

_Sybil waved her off, her own laughter beginning to bubble over. "No m'lady here, just two former milk cows and one new milk cow," she joked along with her mother-in-law._

"_Sure enough that, my dear," Mrs. Branson smiled again. "Now let's get this babe fed before he begins caterwauling, or before that husband of yours comes smashing through the door again."_

_Sybil turned her attention to her now whimpering child and all thoughts of her mother fled. She suddenly felt nervous an unprepared. "What do I…?" she trailed off, at a loss how to proceed, everything Mrs. Branson had told her refusing to surface._

"_Take a breath and relax a bit," Mrs. Branson advised again patiently. "You may find it easier to lie down and feed 'im the first few times, or to tuck his feet up under your arm and hold his head in your hands."_

_Mrs. Branson pulled a pillow up and slid it under the baby bringing him more level with Sybil's breast and Sybil shifted and squirmed until she found a position she felt comfortable enough in that would allow the baby to easily suckle, his feet pressed into her side by the crook of her arm, his back along her forearm, and his head in her hand with his face looking at her. She looked up to the midwife and her mother-in-law for approval._

"_That's good," Mrs. Branson praised, "Now offer him your breast."_

_Sybil shyly lowered one side of her nightgown, revealing the overly large breast, and guided her son to the nipple._

"_You may need to cup your breast to help him grab on," the midwife suggested. _

"_And rub the nipple across his lips," Mrs. Branson added knowingly._

_After following both women's instructions the baby opened his mouth but didn't latch on. Sybil tried again to entice him, and for a moment his mouth closed over her breast, but it only last a few moments. _

_Quarter of an hour later and Sybil was near tears as her son was turning a deep red and wailing for food._

"_You're doin' fine darling, some babes jus' need a little extra time to get it," the midwife tried to assure her._

"_But he's not…"_

_A knock at the door interrupted them and Tom walked in carrying a tray of food._

"_Oh, Tom, for goodness sakes," Mrs. Branson chastised. "We've not sent for you yet."_

_Tom took in his wife's ruddy face and glassy eyes, and it was impossible not to hear his son's cries, and set the tray down—doing his best to ignore the fact that he was in the room with the midwife, his mother, his wife and his wife's breast. _

"_Sybil, love, what's wrong?"_

"_I can't get him…"_

"_Can't you stay out…"_

_Sybil and Mrs. Branson began speaking at the same time. Tom glared at his mother, that hard stare that had always let Sybil know their conversation was about to be an unpleasant one. Clearly it was enough to silence his mother also and he turned back to his wife, his expression patient and tender. _

"_Sybil?"_

"_I can't get him to feed," she admitted with frustration and a hint of embarrassment. _

_It wasn't difficult to see Sybil was reaching the end of her reserves and Tom asked for a few minutes alone with his wife._

"_And what do you expect to do Mr. Tom Branson?" his mother demanded; as a mother does of a son. "Are you so knowledgeable that you're an expert on feeding a babe?"_

_Tom's own well of patience had run dry. "No, I don't claim such esteem, but what I do know is that I've been apart from my wife for nearly a full day, that I've had less than five minutes with my new son, and I just spent the most agonizing night of my life in the company of one, less than compassionate, Ms. O'Brien. I know very little on feeding a baby but I know a great deal about my wife and I would very much appreciate a few minutes alone with her."_

_Mrs. Branson had the decency to at least look a little humbled by his remarks, though she would never openly admit it. She loved her daughter-in-law, but part of her still struggled with forgiving Tom for his actions, inviting such disruption in her life; particularly in the form of shared responsibility as a grandparent with Lord and Lady Grantham. If perhaps she gave her son a hard time every now and again she was sure it wasn't anything he didn't deserve. _

_By silent, mutual agreement, the two older women left the room, taking the soiled linens and other more unsightly aspects of birth with them._

_Tom stoically watched them go but as the door shut he turned to his wife and new son, a barely contained look of glee on his face. "Finally," he breathed triumphantly._

_Despite her current frustration, Sybil felt his excitement. "Tom Branson that was very mean," she pointed out, though her ire was betrayed by the smirk on her face. _

"_Too many women in this house telling me what to do," he argued with a wink._

"_I thought women's rights began at home."_

"_They do; it's my home and I've got a right to see my woman," he explained cheekily, and before she could respond he asked, "How are you, really?" His expression had grown serious and Sybil could see that he still hadn't changed from his disheveled appearance. She had heard stories of expectant fathers leaving the home, going to a pub, or in the case of the aristocracy going on a hunt while their wives laboured. She knew it was not outside the norm for a man to be as far away as possible for varying reasons. This was clearly not the case with Tom, he having been rather affected by her night of discomfort. How she loved this man._

"_I feel I've worked three straight shifts at the hospital," she answered honestly, still juggling a very discontented baby at her breast. "And now I've got a Branson male who refuses to eat properly."_

_Glancing down at the little one in her arms Tom smirked, "Yeah, doesn't seem likely does it?" Sybil had learned early on that hard work made the Branson boys alarmingly hungry._

_Tom moved to the bed. "Let's trade," he said, offering her the tray of food._

"_But Tom he's hungry. I can't eat and let him go without." Her voice sounded ridiculously high in her own ears, but how could he expect her to ignore her crying baby._

_Tom set the tray down on the bed and reached for his son, explaining, "He's not going to starve to death in the five minutes it takes you to eat a bit of toast and jam. And I may not know how to feed a baby but I've been around enough women to know that a nursing mother needs to eat." He could see her lingering doubt and added, "Plus, I would very much like to hold my son if I may."_

_He knew that had done it, her face softened and after gently tugging her nightgown back up she place a kiss on her son's head and then carefully handed him off to his father. _

_Tom wasn't unfamiliar with holding babies, he had enough family to know how to cradle them and to keep the head and neck safe, but it was a completely different situation the first time he was holding his own child. Even with his little arms flailing about and his plump bottom lip, some much like his Sybil's, shaking dramatically as he whimpered and wailed, Tom had never felt such immediate overwhelming love._

"_That's not quite how I pictured it," Sybil admitted quietly, but with tears in her eyes._

"_What?" Tom could only whisper around the lump in his throat._

"_The moment I handed you our first born," Sybil continued, "I always pictured a quiet, contented baby with rosy cheeks."_

_Tom chuckled, "But this is more like us I suppose."_

_Sybil's smile grew impossibly large. "Agreed. This is perfectly us."_

_His own smile spread, but his tone was serious as he commanded, "Now eat."_

_Feeling ravenous, and seeing Tom easily bouncing back and forth already helping to calm the baby, Sybil reached for the plate of toast. She made quick work of spreading a bit of jam over the crispy bread and after taking a healthy bite and swallowing asked, "Was it really so bad, being with O'Brien?"_

_Tom raised an eyebrow at her. "I probably don't have much room to complain to you after what you just went through, but I think I'd rather dance naked in front of Lord Grantham than spend another evening in that woman's company."_

_Sybil choked on the bite she had just taken._

"_Alright?" he asked her innocently._

_She could only glower at him as she took a sip of her tea._

_Tom cooed at the baby for a moment before saying, "Speaking of bitter women, what was the sour look on your mother's face about?"_

_She swallowed down the last bit of breakfast then answered, "A disagreement about nursing the baby; seems it's unbefitting a Lady." Sybil cut off his response with a wave of her hand. "Just her inability to understand me and the life I have chosen. Now, I've eaten and feel ready to try again."_

_Tom frowned at how easily she dismissed the situation with her mother but he had to agree that the topic of Cora Crawley's disapproval seemed out of place at such a moment so he simply tucked the newborn between his body and forearm, freeing one hand to take the tray from her and set it down on their side table. Keeping an eye on Sybil, he carefully sat down next to her, feeling a bit nervous to touch her. _

_She couldn't help the wince that appeared at being jostled, and he froze. She was quick to assure him she was fine and after a bit of awkward shuffling and shifting, she found herself wedged against his left side. He handed her the baby, but kept his own hand against the child's tiny bottom. _

_Together they held him, just staring in awe and wonder. _

"_I'm your da," Tom whispered reverently._

_Sybil smiled again, her fluctuating emotions either spreading her lips or bringing tears to her eyes. "And I'm your mama," she added with pride._

_Their tender moment was interrupted as their son began fussing in earnest. And the new parents laughed._

"_Oh my poor baby is so hungry," Sybil fretted. _

_Tom and Sybil shared an uncertain look before steeling themselves against the task. Tom helped her lower the right side of her nightgown, then the pair turned to each other with the baby sandwiched between them, sharing the weight of the baby. Sybil used her free hand to cup her breast and run the nipple against her son's lips._

_The baby's tiny round head flopped a bit, but Tom held him firm and Sybil tried again. His mouth closed over the plump offering and Sybil could see his jaw working, but again it only lasted for a moment before he was opening his mouth wide to fuss. After three more failed attempts Sybil could feel her frustration resurfacing._

"_Please little one," she begged, her low, husky voice breaking. _

_Sensing her despondency, Tom rearranged them so his arm was around Sybil and the baby rested more fully against her chest. "You can do this," he assured her and responding to her need for levity added, "You have a very, _very_ fine pair of breasts."_

"_Tom," Sybil chided, but the raised corners of her lips made it clear his comment had hit its intended mark. _

_He merely waggled his eyebrows at her._

_Sybil took a calming breath and delicately stroked a finger along her child's cheek. It took two more tries but she immediately felt a difference when he latched on fully. A gasp escaped her lips, a response from both the sensation of him suckling and her feeling of triumph. When he didn't let go right away, but continued to nurse Sybil glanced at Tom. His eyes were as wide as hers._

"_I…I think we've done it," Sybil observed still slightly surprised._

"_I believe you have," Tom said happily. "You beautiful girl, you've done it." He kissed her hair. "Thank you, thank you for this, for him, for…everything."_

Sybil giggled now as she thought of that first feeding; how she had feared she'd never get him to eat. As she sat now, nearly four months later, with him eagerly sucking away, so easily and naturally, she couldn't believe she had worried so. It had taken a few feedings for them to really get a groove, and about four days after his birth her milk had let down and her breast had never been so engorged and sore, but they had pushed through it, relying on each other for relief from their discomfort and both gaining confidence. At night she could just role over and feed him with minimal interruption to all of their sleep. It was still exhausting, but in these quiet moments as she made eye contact with her blue-eyed baby, and sang to him, or talked to him, or even just silently smiled at him as his pudgy fingers clung to her skin, she knew she would deal with it all over again.

Her moment of revelry was broken as Tom walked in wearing the dinner jacket Matthew had gifted him. "Not dressed yet," he observed.

"No, little man wanted his own dinner," she explained though she was sure it was clear to husband.

Tom smirked. "The Dowager said you were indisposed, I assumed the worst, but I should've known it was nothing so dramatic."

Sybil understood his smirk. This was their first visit to Downton since the arrival of the baby, and it seemed everyone had an opinion on how Tom and Sybil should be raising their child. She thought her Granny was going to drop dead from shock when Sybil had to excuse herself because her breasts were leaking enough to dampen the front of her frock.

_S_ybil laughed. "It seems I'm always to be scandalizing my family with nursing."

Tom chuckled at his wife's wit. "My wife, the rebel," he declared happily, leaning down and lightly grazing her lips with his own. He ran a hand over his son's bald head affectionately. "And my son, the eater."

Sybil frowned at him. They had different terms for the size of their son. Tom lovingly referred to him as plump, while Sybil preferred to call him healthy. But what they both could agree on was how kissable his chubby cheeks were.

She winced as the baby bit down on her nipple, and her husband grimaced sympathetically.

"That's really going to hurt when he gets teeth," she commented dryly.

Tom nodded. "It's up to you; we can switch to bottle feedings…" But she cut him off with a shake of her head.

"Thank you, but no." She smiled down at her little boy, her son with the man she loved dearly, and her heart exploded in her chest as his red little mouth released her breast to giver her a milky smile back. "I'm quite contented."

**The end**

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**Thanks so much for wading through this goliath of a oneshot. I hope you enjoyed. And maybe I lied; maybe there is something sexy about breastfeeding….think Tom would agree? *wink***


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